


The Moment it Changed

by Brennah_K



Series: TTOB-Indelible-AMTC 'verse [1]
Category: Indelible 'Verse, Sherlock (TV), Two Two One Bravo Baker Series
Genre: AU, AU Indelible Verse - I just couldn't figure out how to save McMath without complications, All the boy's are still BAMFs!, Indelible - like 'verse, Language, M/M, Non-deaths of Major Characters, Quotes from Two Two One Bravo Baker, Two Two One Bravo Baker is an addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 12:38:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7222642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brennah_K/pseuds/Brennah_K
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For months after reading it, I maundered and pondered on how <i>Two Two One Bravo Baker</i> could be reconciled to <i>Indelible</i> and how they could both be dove-tailed/Integrated into Sherlock(BBC) canon. </p><p>Aranel_parmadil's podfic of<i>Two Two One Bravo Baker</i> stirred up my maundering muse again, and this is the result.</p><p>Many apologies for not saving McMath, everything I tried just presented problems later on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Moment it Changed

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Two Two One Bravo Baker](https://archiveofourown.org/works/180121) by [abundantlyqueer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abundantlyqueer/pseuds/abundantlyqueer). 
  * Inspired by [Indelible](https://archiveofourown.org/works/191672) by [abundantlyqueer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abundantlyqueer/pseuds/abundantlyqueer). 
  * Inspired by [[Podfic] Two Two One Bravo Baker](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5805433) by [aranel_parmadil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aranel_parmadil/pseuds/aranel_parmadil). 



> Quotes from Two Two One Bravo Baker chapters 22 & 23 are included in italicized block quotes and used essentially for introduction and integration purposes.

> _The nullah is a long ravine, about thirty feet wide and twelve feet deep, with steeply sloping sides running down to a sluggish flow of muddy water. Blackwood and Henn are lying against the sloped bank, Blackwood on his chest, Henn on his back holding in his hands the small screen displaying the video feed from Margaret’s camera. John and Sherlock scramble over the edge of the nullah, sending dirt and gravel sliding down the slope._
> 
> _“What have we got?” John asks Henn._
> 
> _“One Land Rover,” Henn says._
> 
> _John sighs and rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes._
> 
> _“D’you think he’s going to blow himself up at us?” Blackwood says._
> 
> _“I fucking hope so,” Henn says, “though I’d like to help with it.”_
> 
> _Blackwood slices one hand across the sweat-spiked top of Henn’s hair; Henn tilts away, grinning._
> 
> _They watch as the distant plume of dust resolves into a vehicle and its trailing dust cloud. The Land Rover is five or six hundred yards away, traveling across the open ground more or less parallel to the run of the nullah. It rolls to a stop just a hundred yards or so short of the house. The dust cloud dissipates, and the air shimmers with heat, turning the Land Rover to a trembling streak of beige against the paler beige background. John draws his assault rifle under his shoulder and peers through the sight at the driver, who’s turning his head as he surveys the house on one side and the empty ground on the other._
> 
> _“Is it him?” Blackwood asks, staring at John’s profile._
> 
> _“Yeah,” John says tightly, lifting his cheek from the stock of his rifle. “It’s Brecon.”_
> 
> _“We can take him from here,” Sherlock says._
> 
> _“He knows who the fourth member of the conspiracy is,” John says. “We’re not putting a bullet through his brain.”_
> 
> _“It’s too fucking good for him anyway,” Henn says._
> 
> _“Mycroft may already know who the fourth conspirator is,” Sherlock says to John._
> 
> _“Or he may not,” John says. “Do you seriously want to wipe out your only remaining lead in this case?”_
> 
> _“Is he just going to sit there?” Henn scowls._
> 
> _“Are we just going to sit here?” Blackwood asks, glancing between Sherlock and John._
> 
> _“If he stays there long enough, he’ll get heat stroke,” Henn says._
> 
> _“If he stays there long enough, so will we,” Blackwood says._
> 
> _“Fuck it,” John says, sliding down the slope enough to retain cover as he comes up onto his knees. “When in doubt, poke it with a stick - it’s the Commando way. One of us has to go over the top.”_
> 
> _“Me, I’m the least valuable,” Henn says at once._
> 
> _..._
> 
> _Blackwood smirks and loops the strap of his assault rifle around his forearm._
> 
> _“Not a chance,” John says to him._
> 
> _Blackwood’s smirk turns to a grin as he nods towards Sherlock._
> 
> _“Doc, he’s your responsibility, not mine. You’re not sticking me with him.”_
> 
> _“The Royal Marines is not a democracy,” John says. “We don’t discuss it. I decide who goes - and I’m deciding it’s me.”_
> 
> _“Yeah,” Blackwood says slowly. “Except, this isn’t the Royal Marines, is it? It’s a civilian and three deserters in a ditch.”_
> 
> _“Shit,” John says. “I was hoping it’d take you a bit longer to figure that out.”_
> 
> _Blackwood snorts in amusement, while Henn grins at them both._
> 
> _..._
> 
> “His plan can’t be to sit in the MV until we drag him out and torture the fourth name out of him,” John says to Sherlock. 
> 
> _“No,” Sherlock says. “I’m sure it isn’t - but I don’t know what it is.”_
> 
> _“Ah, fuck it,” Blackwood says. “Come on. Let’s see what he’s got.”_  
> 

Sherlock had set back, listening distantly to John, Henn, and Blackwood bickering over who would go down and confront the Brigadier ... right up until they had seemed to settle on a three pronged attack with Sherlock settled 'safely' - and uselessly- in place until it was over. 

"No." Sherlock answered, raising his hand to to forestall any argument the next one would offer. 

"What he's doing doesn't make sense - unless it's a trap. Think! What is his purpose? What can his purpose possibly be for sitting there without cover?"

"Gowan did!" Henn objects. 

"Precisely," Sherlock agrees as if Henn had made the point for him. "He did, and that. was. a. trap. He killed himself in order to falsify incriminating recordings that could be used against us. What is Brecon's purpose in sitting where he is... in the open... where he could be picked off from any number of directions with a single well placed shot. More photos of us seeming to shoot a single unaccompanied high-ranking officer at an off-base location where he had no strategic or compelling reason to be? That would only add doubt to our perceived guilt, not weight to the charge. What purpose could he possibly have except to..." 

"Draw us into the open." John finished for him unnecessarily; the realization was on the others' faces as well. 

"It doesn't even have to be into the open." Blackwood continued the thought, "Just a muzzle flash and..."

"Yes," Sherlock continued, "Snipers do seemed to be a predominant theme of this 'adventure'." Sherlock trailed off thinking momentarily back on the phrase used by the British High Commission Officer in Islamabad and how it already seemed so distant.

"Shite!" Henn cursed turning to drag open his pack and pull out a scope. 

"Shove over," Henn half-ordered as he pushed between John and Sherlock to get a better view. 

"I can't see anyone, yet... but we've seen they're not amateurs. What do we do?" Henn huffed, rolling over on his back. 

"Get another perspective," Sherlock answered, dragging the laptop over to his lap and changing some of the settings on the feed from Margaret's halter. 

They waited as she circled overhead, with caught breaths, scanning the screen for even the slightest movement or abnormality, until even the brigadier seemed to be growing impatient and moved the land rover into a tight circle as if trying to tempt them with the suggestion that they would lose their chance to catch him if they didn't move quickly. His move did not have the effect that he'd clearly hoped for - at least not on the four hunkered down in the ravine. 

The snipers were another story. 

"Got him!" Henn hissed with triumph, pointing out the small dot of movement in the lower right of the screen. 

"Not a good shot from here," John complained quietly, saying what they were all thinking. 

The nullah offered room to move under cover twelve feet deep, but the trade off was uneven footing on loose gravel and sand as well as a ridge on each side that of the ravine flattened to the surrounding ground within inches - a ridge that sloped enough they could clamber over it quickly, or they wouldn't have used the ravine for cover otherwise - but a flat enough ridge that anyone going over would be almost immediately visible and out in the open for at least... 

Sherlock scanned what he could of the nearby cover. 

Three seconds. At a full-out run, the nearest coverage was three critical seconds away. 

"No," Sherlock answered, agreeing with John's complaint, "but one I can make. Henn find me the other sniper or snipers; there may be, no, there probably are more than one more."

"Why do you think there's another?" Henn questioned even while turning back to the screen. 

"Brigadier David Brecon... Brigadier...Of course there's another. Do you think he reached the rank of Brigadier without having contingencies in place? John, I'll need a spotter." Sherlock continued, picking up the scope Henn had set down, without looking where it had been set and holding it out to John. 

"What do you want me to do?" Blackwood asked. 

"Are you a praying man?" Sherlock questioned back, catching the others off guard, judging by their expressions. 

"Not particularly." Blackwood shrugged. 

"Well you might try it while you disable Brecon's vehicle and dissuade the Brigadier from attempting to leave on foot. I'll want to talk to him after this, and the conversation might go further if the man miraculously developed a conscience."

"Will do." Blackwood answered, grinning. 

"Hey, not to be the fly in the jam jar here, but he's been down there just waiting to get shot. What makes you think he won't just off himself?" Henn interrupted.

"Instinct." John answered before Sherlock could. "He could probably have taken himself out at the beginning of this and might try when we go down to chat, but once the fighting starts, instinct's going to kick in - and Brecon's a fighter."

"And ego," Sherlock added, "He can reconcile sitting still for a sniper shot, but getting caught by a stray... no. Make the shots sloppy, but accurate." Sherlock advised Blackwell, before turning away, "John."

"Where?"

"There." Sherlock pointed twenty yards further along the ravine. 

It wouldn't make the shot any easier, but the chances that one of the team could be hit by return fire when the opposition identified his muzzle flare warranted splitting up. Approval and understanding shown in John's eyes as he shouldered his pack and took the assault rifle, letting Sherlock take the laput115. Staying low, John hurried to the spot that Sherlock indicated. 

Just as Sherlock was about to follow, a nubuck glove closed briefly over his arm, stopping him.

> _“Sorry about that crack about the civilian,” Blackwood says quietly._
> 
> _Sherlock smiles humorlessly and shakes his head._

"Wait for my signal." Sherlock ordered with a smile, then hurried to where John was already scanning the area the computer had indicated for their target. 

"Got him..." John finally huffed, " but the distance... Christ."

"What is it?"

"It's too far, damn it!" John stirred up a puff of dust with his fist as he slammed it into the bank. 

"What is it?" Sherlock demanded softly. 

"Twenty-six ninty." John's tone was despairing. 

"I can make the shot." Sherlock answered, already sliding his rifle up and into position and shifting to keep the stock and barrel as unnoticeable as possible as he moved it forward. 

"Sherlock," John's tone had taken on an edge of warning. 

"John, in Musa Qala, how far away did you think the hill that Henn and I were on was from the canal's bank?" 

Sherlock can feel John's eyes on him as he slowly releases a breath, pulls in a second, and released it then dropped his eyelids, slowly inhaled, clearing his sight unhurriedly, slowly down, slowly up, released the breath, and squeezed the trigger. The shot rang in their ears, high, thin, and bell clear. Beside him, Sherlock could feel John's jerk as he swung his head around and pulled the scope to his eye. 

After several seconds passed, John rasped softly, "you are fucking incredible, Sherlock. Fuck-ing incredible." 

The tone of John's voice tempted Sherlock glance at John's groin to confirm his suspicions, but between their positions and the cut of their uniforms he doubted that he'd be able to see anything, anyway.

"Behave." John chuffed, for once seeming to read his thoughts instead of the reverse as he commented "later", and turned to scan for the other snipers that Sherlock had said would be out there... having no doubt that his lover was right. 

"Alpha One," Blackwood's voice crackled over the headset. "Six o'clock and moving in fast; look's like he spotted you but has to move in for range." 

"Alpha Two, we'll handle it, keep Brecon distracted." Sherlock answered for John as the marine spun and scanned behind them, noticing the other sniper's movement almost immediately. Getting a better grip on the rifle as he stood, Sherlock turned and dropped to his knee, grounding his seat on his boot heel as he swept the muzzle up and adjusted the calibration to the John's reported the distance, elevation, and windage. He pressed pressed his shoulder into the butt, released his breath, and gently squeezed the trigger as Blackwood's voice broke over the headset again.

"Brecon's loose. I can't see him."

"Find him," John and Sherlock barked simultaneously.

"You already have."

Sherlock did not need to ask who it was behind them; the despair in John's expression as they turned was answer enough. 

"Brigadier David Brecon, I presume?" Sherlock questioned stalling for time.

The Brigadier nodded, "And you're the brother I presume? Ah, ah..." he waggled a finger on the hand not aiming a sig sauer at John's forehead when he noticed Sherlock edging protectively in front of John. 

"Bastard!" John interrupted him hoarsely, "How could you?"

> _“You put the fucking green beret on me,” John yells. “We trusted you.”_
> 
> _“Trusted me to do what?” Brecon growls. “To keep you alive? To keep you safe? You’re commandos; your job is in the kill zone.”_
> 
> _..._
> 
> _“I’ve sent you into the line of fire a hundred times before and you went,” Brecon says. “You went even though you knew it was a pointless fucking mission in a pointless fucking war. Well, this time there is a point – men are dying so that we can get what we need to win this fucking thing. Isn’t that worth it, John? Isn’t that worth your life and mine?”_
> 
> _..._
> 
> _“Come on then,” John grimaces, “you and me, let’s go.”_
> 
> _“John, no,” Sherlock says sharply._
> 
> _..._
> 
> _He steps quickly behind John, swinging his assault rifle aside and grabbing the back of John’s armor to pull him in tight._
> 
> _“Holmes, what the fuck are you doing?” John snaps._
> 
> _Sherlock tears at the tapes of his own armor, and wrenches the front section aside from his chest._
> 
> _“Oh, Christ,” John says, “that’s a fucking stupid plan.”_
> 
> _“You can’t shoot him,” Sherlock grins breathlessly at Brecon over John’s shoulder. “Not at this range – that round’s going to go straight through him and into me, and you need me.”_
> 
> _..._
> 
> [John] twists violently, the length of his forearm slamming into Sherlock’s chest, wiping him right off his feet and throwing him down the bank of the nullah just as Brecon pulls the trigger. Sherlock rolls and hits the water, a wall of foaming beige thrown up around him. The round punches through the back of John’s left shoulder and explodes out through the front of it, his armor useless at such close range. His gun arcs darkly through the air as he’s slammed forwards off his feet. He hits the ground face-first, writhing in agony as Brecon aims at him again. 
> 
> _Sherlock surges upright, muddy water streaming from his face and clothes and assault rifle as he swings it to his shoulder. Brecon sweeps the muzzle of his own gun upwards, but Sherlock’s shot rings out. It catches Brecon in the throat; there’s an explosive burst of blood and ripped flesh and then the heavy fall of his body to the ground._
> 
> _John digs a boot-heel into the dirt and heaves himself over onto his back, as Sherlock scrambles up the side of the nullah and flings himself onto his knees next to him._
> 
> _John’s gloved right hand clutches at his left shoulder, his blood blossoming brightly on pale camouflage cloth and thick nubuck. His boots scuff in the dirt as he thrashes under the pain, his breath whistling in and grunting out again around a liquid cough._
> 
> _“No, no,” Sherlock says. “No.”_
> 
> _He puts his hands on John, and John grabs at him, clutching his sleeves. Sherlock’s eyes widen as he sees the raggedly punched hole in the left shoulder of John’s armor, the tattered edge of the canvas soaked red. John’s shaking, his whole body ridden by tremors. Sherlock wrenches his gaze upwards to meet John’s._
> 
> _..._
> 
> _“Sherlock - ” he sighs. “I need you to know - ”_
> 
> _“No,” Sherlock snaps, grabbing him by the right shoulder and the left side of his waist and hauling him into a sit. “You promised me, John – you fucking promised me, so you stay alive.”_
> 
> _John nods haphazardly._
> 
> _“All right, we’re leaving,” Sherlock says tightly._

"Get the Humvee!" Sherlock barked at Blackwood when Blackwood and Henn reached them.

Henn was already pulling open the pouch at his hip and dragging out medical supplies, including a syringe in its plastic tube. He broke the cap of the tub and poured the syringe into his palm, careful not to stick himself with it as he prepped it and grabbed John’s wrist until the inside of his elbow was exposed. Henn grabbed out an alcohol pad and tore it open with his teeth, then wiped the exposed arm, inserted the needle, and pressed the plunger. 

"What was that?" Sherlock asked in a choked voice. 

"Morphine." Henn answered, but didn't spare time to give any further explanation as he moved to check John's shoulder. 

Sherlock stepped back, helplessly moving out of the way, as Henn moved over John with the efficiency of someone who'd seen many such wounds and who would do a far better job without his assistance. He wasn't aware of the time, his surroundings, Blackwood returning to stand at his side, or the Humvee at his back, until Henn finally stood up and joined them. 

"How is he?" Blackwood asked when Sherlock couldn't force the question out. 

"The good news is it was a through and through and didn't puncture the lung." Henn offered in a grim tone, staring briefly at Blackwood in a way that told Sherlock he wasn't holding much hope for John. 

"The bad news?" Sherlock breathed out.

"If we don't get him to a hospital, quickly, it won't matter. He's bleeding into the pleural cavity. It won't take long for it to strangle off his ability to breath - twelve to eighteen hours max... then there's the morphine..."

"It's a depressant." Sherlock finished a sentence understanding completely. 

"But being listed as deserters, and with those pictures out there, we can't get him to a hospital until we're sure that they won't just turn us over to the powers that be... not knowing who's behind it." Blackwood argued quietly.

"I know." Henn agreed, turning to look at Sherlock for a plan. 

'You can't stay here. The conspirators, or their mercenaries, will have to clean this up. Mycroft is forward-tracing Brecon's goodbye message if he left one. Once we know who that is, Mycroft can come in with troops."

"You mean _we_ can't stay here." 

"No, I mean the three of you cannot stay here. I will. Take the humvee and get to the safest location you can near the base... or barring that go to Farhad and his brothers. They have a reason to help us, and I believe they can be trusted to do so."

"Oh no, you're coming with us." Blackwood insisted grabbing Sherlock's arm as if expecting him to run that second. 

"No, I'm not. If Mycroft's people didn't catch the message or if he didn't leave one, I can still back-trace the land rover's gps chip to find the last places he's been. He had to be close, it didn't take him that long to get here, and the snipers were in position, but we didn't see him stop to drop them off or a second vehicle, so they had to be close enough to get her on foot - in that half hour. Someone is going to have to come clean this up, so if I can't back-trace their location, I'll simply wait and follow them back to it." 

"Then, I'm staying with you," Blackwood argued. 

"No, you're staying with John and Henn. They need you."

"Hey, I can..." Henn protested, apparently insulted by the suggestion that he couldn't protect himself.

"Treat a hemothorax, while driving, covering up any traces you might leave behind, and watching behind you for any of the conspirator's henchmen? No... stay with John, keep him alive, let Blackwood do the driving and the soldiering, and I'll do what I was sent here to do." Sherlock barked back, losing patience.

"And what was that exactly? Cause our orders are apparently different from yours. Our orders were to keep you safe at all cost, including my life, Hinde's, McMath's, Henn's, even John's." Blackwood challenged.

"To protect queen, country, and common wealth," Sherlock snarked, "And while I'm doing that, stop this conspiracy, take out the men responsible for it, and remove any individuals who move to take their places once the leaders are out of commission. Considering what's at stake, I'm confident that my orders take precedence. Now, stop wasting time and help me get John into the Humvee. If you don't give me the time to back-trace Brecon's gps, I'll take the most expedient route of simply turning myself over to them and letting them take me back to the remaining conspirator. At this point, they still don't seem to want me dead, so it's a viable option if everything else bottoms out."

"You are fucking unbelievable," Blackwood growled, "fucking blackmailing us with your own life. God you're insane."

"No," Sherlock disagreed, "Just willing to do what it takes to see this thing over. Now go."

"Come on, George. We're not going to talk him out of it, and if they are close, we running out of time." Henn commented, having returned from checking on John. 

Together, the three of them lifted John, who only woke momentarily from the morphine to tell Sherlock he was beautiful and that he'd never been with anyone else who could compare, and got him settled into the back of it. Just before they parted, Sherlock thanked the two men, gave Henn a folded up message to give John, and pulled Blackwood aside for a moment.

"Look, I'm sorry I couldn't keep Brecon from..." Blackwood started, but Sherlock cut him off, "No, there were more snipers that you had to deal with."

"I heard the other shots." He explained when Blackwood looked dumbfounded.

"Okay, then... but why..." Blackwood didn't finish the question, but it was implied in a glance at the distance between himself and Henn.

"I asked John, weeks ago, if he knew he was going to die, who he'd want with him. He said you."

"But that's changed, you've gotta know that's changed. He'd want you there." Blackwood disputed earnestly. 

"Yes, yes, he said as much, but if I couldn't be there, he wanted you. I can't be there. So please, stay with him, keep him alive if you can, but if you can't, just be there."

"You got it." Blackwood's answer was his oath, and both men recognized it. 

"Come here," Blackwood surprised Sherlock, pulling him into a rough hug that made him stumble into the other man's heavy frame. 

When Blackwood released him, Henn was there to take his place slapping Sherlock on the back and promising that he'd see them again, all of them, and that the rounds were on Sherlock next time... as he had a lot of pub nights to catch up on. With that, the three men separated: Henn and Blackwood going to the Humvee and Sherlock to the Land Rover before pulling out in separate directions.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, there it is, my take on a "moment" that could change Two Two One Bravo Baker into an Indelible - like universe (absent McMath). From this point, chapter's 24-27 could continue without much change from Two Two One Baker Bravo - with the small exception that John wouldn't be the only one reported missing in action for their protection. 
> 
> (And possibly, Blackwood and Henn might find themselves recruited by Mycroft, but that's only an idle thought that came to mind about who Mycroft might have called on to support Sherlock after Reichenbach Fall, when he's going after Moran and Moriarity's remaining network.)
> 
> There is a sequel/side story that I hope to post soon, set after Reichenbach Fall and Sherlock's return, where the New Scotland Yard Crew get to meet 40 Commando Royal Marines and see a side of Sherlock they hadn't believed possible... Oh, and get slightly mocked (Donovan & Anderson) by the squaddies for not recognizing the kind of man Sherlock can be. (Blackwood to Donovan/Anderson, "Freak, hmm, that's not what most folks say about Victoria Cross recipients, but I'll grant you he is an unusual bloke: best shot I've ever seen, went a full round with a Royal Marine and asked for more, and can find a stash of weapons in a hut that three patrols doing daily checks missed.")


End file.
